Of Life, Love And Weasleys
by thelilacfield
Summary: There are many different flavours in the world. Two hundred of them spark moments of romance and friendship.
1. Cinnamon Hazelnut

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter One: Cinnamon Hazelnut

"Good morning, sir, would you like a portrait?" a voice asks him. He looks down and sees a familiar pair of blue eyes ringed by smudged purple circles.

"Lucy, what are you doing out here?" he asks incredulously.

"Getting my art out there and making money," she retorts coolly. "You want a portrait or not, Malfoy?"

"Oh, so we're back to using last names, _Weasley_?" he asks. "I love it when we do that, raises the sexual tension."

"We have no sexual tension, Scorpius," she says, narrowing her eyes disdainfully. "Now, do you want a portrait, because there is a queue?"

"How long is this going to take, I need to meet a client," he says wearily, taking a seat opposite her.

"Half an hour, at the most," she answers, choosing a stick of charcoal from her box and unfurling a roll of parchment. "Now, keep still."

It's painful, for a man who lives a lifestyle as busy and bustling as he does, to sit perfectly still for so long. She doesn't even look at him except for darting her gaze up to his face and back down to her parchment, sketching with quick, light movements. The scent of cinnamon drifts along on the breeze and he wonders where it's coming from before he notices the jar of cinnamon sticks next to her equipment.

"You can stop fidgeting now, I'm finished," she says, slotting the charcoal stick back into her box and brushing the dust from her hands.

He looks at the parchment and wonders how such talent comes from the spiky little Slytherin he used to throw snowballs at during the annual snowfall celebrations. She's captured him perfectly, from his eyes carefully smudged a misty grey to the little tendril of hair that always hangs in his eyes, no matter how many times he gets a haircut. He looks on edge, ready at any second to bolt and his mouth is set in a hard line.

"It's brilliant, Lucy, how much is it?" he asks. She pauses in the act of washing her hands in a small basin.

"Ten Galleons," she says after a minute of thought. He delves into his pockets and tips ten large gold coins into her eager hands.

He looks at her as she deposits the coins into a pouch hanging from her waist. She's at home here, he can tell, on the street selling her art. Her freckles are almost hidden by smudges of charcoal and pastels, her clothes covered in paint splodges and her hair prematurely-greyed from charcoal and tipped with paint. He leans towards her and kisses her.

"Get away from me," she hisses. "Go and see this important client and don't come back!"

Scorpius grins as he walks away. For all her ranting about being the artist of the family, she can act just as well as her sister. He licks his lips as he enters the nearest restaurant, the lingering taste of hazelnuts from her lips on his tongue.

"Molly, how are you? I've just snogged your sister."

"'Bout time, she was getting almost too crabby to live with."

* * *

><p>This is a collection of 200 nextgen drabbles, based on candle and coffee flavours, for Pearl's '200 Flavourful Prompts - for Points' challenge over at the NextGen Fanatics forum.<p>

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	2. Country Heather

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Two: Country Heather

Dominique had always loved watching the horizon.

It was where the sea and sky met, where their love story came to a great climax as they finally touched. The sun set and rose over the horizon, a tired red ball slowly sinking through a dark sky or a yawning yellow ball rising through a milky-blue sky.

She had thought, as a little red-headed girl gazing out of her bedroom window at the sunrise, that if she could walk to the horizon, she'd find happiness.

Of course, no one could walk to the horizon, because it continually moved away. It was just the same as no one could find that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. But to lie on a riverbank and absorb that county feeling was as close as she could ever get to the horizon. She could be away from the traffic and noise and orange streetlight mist of city life. Instead, she could make daisy chains and paddle in an icy-cold stream and soak up the sun in sweet-smelling fields.

Lying with her hair pillowed under her head, she thought over many things. Musing by the river was a favourite weekend pastime of hers. The quiet babble of running water and the chirruping of birds was conductive to relaxation and so allowed the thinker to truly concentrate on the issues bothering them - that was what her yoga instructor had said.

Everything she wondered about was disconnected, her mind often wandering off on a tangent as she was wont to do in conversations. Romance was a big part of it - the reasons behind why she loved Scorpius but was still stirred by Lysander and even Teddy. Her family - why her mother and father were fighting and exactly how her grandparents had managed to have such a long, happy marriage. And herself - why she was never satisfied and always so self-critical and such a coward when it came to feelings.

But, rolling in the heather and watching the bees buzz around her and sometimes landing on her arms in a slim impersonation of her freckles, she could forget it all and just be Nikka, the redhead who loved the country and her family and the smell of the air after it had rained. She could pinch the little flower between green-and-silver polished nails and feel the scratchy stalks pressing into her back and be glad just to be alive.

And she can chase the butterflies and pretend she's free like them and not bound to love one man for her whole life, not bound by the powers of her kind and not bound in her choosing of friends by her family.

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><p>Thank you for reading number two of two hundred! Just think, one-hundredth of the way there!<p>

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	3. Rainforest Crunch

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Three: Rainforest Crunch

_Crunch crunch crunch_

"What was that?" Lysander asks, twisting wildly to look at the trees and the dark corridors of foliage.

"What was what?" Lorcan asks, looking up momentarily from the map. "I think we're going the wrong way, this map clearly states left at the ceremonial statue collection."

_Crunch crunch crunch_

"That!" Lysander squeaks, ducking behind his brother and gazing fearfully into the columns of trunks.

"That's just us walking, silly," Lorcan laughs, though a tremor of fear lurks beneath the tone. "Come on, this adventure will go one for days if we don't hurry."

They walk for hours, until they reach a river too wide to jump over and too fast and deep to wade across. Lysander sits down at the edge, his face pale as he watches the water rush past underneath them while Lorcan paces back and forth, trying to think of a plan.

"Look, those vines look strong," he says, shading his eyes from the beastly sun and pointing toward a neat collection of vines, sadly severed from their trees. "We can loop them around that branch and swing across."

"I don't want to!" Lysander exclaims, folding his arms. "What if we fall in? There's probably Gregaries down there!"

"Come on, or are you too chicken?" Lorcan asks, handing him a vine. "Gregaries don't like chicken, anyway." Lysander reluctantly takes the vine that feels as thick and strong as the rope they lost back at the bed of quicksand and follows Lorcan's example in throwing it towards the branch and rejoicing as their aim proves true. A tug checks that it's definitely securely wrapped around the branch and, with a Tarzan yell to rival the man himself, Lorcan swings across the river, landing neatly on the other side.

"If I die, Lorcan, I'm going to kill you!" Lysander yells. He wraps every limb tightly around the vine and winds it through his finger, taking every precaution to make sure he doesn't fall. With a scream as the ground beneath his feet slips into nothing, he jumps off the bank and swings across to the other side, looking down at the beasts swimming beneath him. He teeters on the edge as he lets go, about to fall into the water and be eaten by Gregaries.

"Phew, that was a close one!" Lorcan exclaims as he pulls his twin back to solid ground. "Let's move on."

_Crunch crunch crunch_

The noise comes again, but this time it's not them. A great red beast stalks out of the trees towards them, its glowing black eyes staring straight at them.

"That's a Carnivorous Humdinger," Lorcan whispers, his eyes on the creature. "Very rare, only lives in three areas of rainforest, attracted by the sounds of fear."

"It must have heard me screaming," Lysander says, near to tears and shaking like a leaf. "I'm so sorry, Lorcan, I've killed us both."

"_Lysander, Lorcan, time for lunch!"_

The rainforest and the Carnivorous Humdinger preparing to pounce fade back into an ordinary garden. The sounds of rushing water and the growling predator become the song of the resident bluebird once more. The two boys turn to each other and grin.

"That was a great adventure!"

"We'll go back and find the golden idol head tomorrow."

* * *

><p>I kind of got carried away with this one. Oops :D I hope you liked Lorc and Ly's little adventure.<p>

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	4. Buttercream

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Four: Buttercream

"You look like the sort of lad who'd like to buy a little ivory," the expensively-dressed man drawls. He smells of coconuts and Victoire clearly doesn't like the smell, the way she's trying to politely pinch her nose and back away. "Twenty galleons a kilogram, absolute bargain!"

"No, thank you, we just want to enjoy our holiday," Teddy says, taking Victoire's hand and walking as fast as he can without running away from the man.

"How dare he?" Victoire shouts as they reach the beach again. "Elephants are an endangered species and he's killing them just for their tusks!"

"Don't worry yourself about things you have no control over," Teddy soothes her. He lies down on the sand and hands her a bottle of sun-screen. "Do my back, would you?"

"You could just use the spells," she laughs, kneeling next to him on their orange blanket.

"I know, but that wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun as you doing it for me," he says, grinning up at her. "Besides, my wands all the way over there in that bag, and I can't be bothered going to get it. It's too bloody hot."

"Well, when you wanted to come on holiday here, I did warn you it would too hot for someone accustomed to British weather," she chides gently, squirting the cold liquid onto his back and carefully rubbing it into every inch of exposed skin.

"I can see why the massage parlour's had so many more customers since you started there," Teddy says in a voice of complete and utter contentment. "Mostly men looking for a date with you."

"I've already got a man that I intend of going on every date for the rest of my life with," Victoire whispers. "There, you're done." She put the bottle back into their bag and lay down next to him, turning her head to smile into his eyes.

"I do adore you, little cabbage of mine," Teddy murmurs, grinning at her affronted expression.

"Well, I was going to kiss you, but if you're going to call me a cabbage, I won't!" she exclaims, sitting up and straightening the sarong wrapped around her waist.

"It's a French term of endearment, Vic," he retorts sweetly. "I would've thought you'd know that, having a French mother."

"I did know that, Teddy," Victoire says, smiling at him. "I just like teasing you." He grins and kisses her.

"I swear, they should just rename this beach 'Snog Beach'" someone grumbles from behind them. "It's all people ever do."

"I am sorry, sir, we'll return to our hotel room," Teddy mumbles vaguely, seizing the bag and the blanket and running up the beach with a giggling, flushed Victoire in tow.

Back in the hotel, they kiss all the way up to their floor in the lift, both of them secretly wishing they'll get stuck. With Victoire's legs wound around his waist, Teddy just manages to drop their bags, shut the door and lock it before they're on the bed.

He wakes up next morning to the chattering of monkeys and the squawks of parrots drifting in through the open window. He trails a finger along smooth ivory skin, admiring where it joins seamlessly with his weather-beaten skin. He lays his head back on the fluffy white pillows and breathes in the scent of buttercream that lingers on her hair.

* * *

><p>I keep writing these way too long to be considered drabbles. Anyway, it's been too long since I wrote TeddyVictoire, so I guess I'm making up for it ;)<p>

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	5. Mudslide

Of Love, Life And Weasleys

Chapter Five: Mudslide

It had been drizzling for days and days and they had pretty much exhausted every source of entertainment in the house. When Albus broke the banister trying to slide down it, James nearly killed the cat and smashed a vase riding his broomstick through the house and Lily threw all her china dolls out of the window because they were 'too babyish', their mother foisted waterproof coats and wellingtons on them and forced them outside.

"Well, this is just _great_," James observed with a heavy sigh. "Because of your stupidity, Al, we've been forced out into the rain."

"It wasn't me!" Albus protested, pointing the finger of blame at his younger sister. "It was Lily throwing her dolls out the window!"

"No, it wasn't, it was James smashing a vase and nearly killing the cat!" Lily shrieked indignantly.

"Whoever's fault it was, what are we supposed to do in the pouring rain?" James asked, pulling up his hood and looking around the garden.

"If this is pouring rain, I'm a Hippogriff," Albus snorted. "This is too pathetic to be called rain, it's more like drizzle."

"We could make a human pyramid," Lily suggested.

"Not much fun with only three of us," James said dolefully.

"We could visit Rose and Hugo," Albus said brightly, squinting through the rain to the house next door.

"They're away visiting Aunt Hermione's parents," James said, shaking his head. "There is nothing to do!"

"Well, of course there isn't!" Albus exclaimed in frustration. "You won't even consider our ideas!"

"I know what we can do!" Lily suddenly shrieked. She beckoned her brothers to follow her and walked to the far side of the garden where their mother's carefully tended flower beds dropped away to a steep hill. The ground was churned up and slippery and Albus and James clung to each other to keep themselves balanced. Lily, however, seemed to have some sort of mutant mountain goat gene, balancing easily on the edge of the hill until she dropped onto her bottom.

"_Viola_, mudslide!" she exclaimed, demonstrating by sliding down. She went surprisingly fast.

"I want to try!" Albus exclaimed as Lily stood up, grinning from ear to ear and not even caring about the mud all over her trousers.

"I'm too old for that," James said disdainfully. Mudslides were just the sort of thing he'd loved and then claimed to be too old for the second he'd hit double digits.

He stood leaning against a tree that seemed to take sadistic pleasure in dripping water onto him every few seconds, watching Lily and Albus fooling about in the dirt. He watched Lily and wanted revenge on her for being the one to make them be chucked outside and blaming him for the crime. He bent down and scraped a pile of mud together, sticking a leaf on top to add beauty.

"Mud pie!" he shouted, throwing it at Lily. It splattered all over her face, the leaf sticking to her nose as she stared at James, looking like she might breathe fire any second.

"Mud fight!" Albus shouted gleefully, scooping up a handful of mud and throwing it at James, who returned fire.

"What is it, earth day?" their mother asked as they traipsed back into the kitchen an hour later, panting, soaking wet and covered from head to toe in mud.

* * *

><p>I hope you liked number five of two hundred! :D<p>

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	6. Beach Walk

Of Love, Life And Weasleys

Chapter Six: Beach Walk

He awakes to the smell and sound of frying bacon drifting through the tent and crawls outside to find Dominique cooking bacon and eggs the Muggle way.

"Why aren't you doing that inside?" he asks, kicking off the assorted blankets tangled around his legs. "There's a perfectly good stove to cook on."

"Because you were still sleeping," Dominique retorts, expertly flipping rashers and wafting the black smoke away from her face. "I like you much more when you're asleep."

"How come you're so good at cooking the Muggle way?" Scorpius asks, watching her poking the bacon.

"I used to take Louis camping when we were kids," she answers, absorbed in frying perfect bacon. "We had a Muggle tent and no option but to cook over a fire. I've gotten quite good at it."

"How long have you been awake?" he asks, yawning widely and grabbing himself a handful of popcorn from the bag they had failed to finish the night before.

"Don't eat that, it'll ruin your breakfast!" Dominique scolds. "I've been awake since six, because unlike _some _people, I don't feel the need to sleep in every morning."

"It was a long walk to get here yesterday!" Scorpius exclaims in defence.

The rest of the day is spent walking along the beach, taking photos to show their families and even stooping so low as to make an elaborate sandcastle with a drawbridge made of a piece of driftwood and walls studded with shells.

Late in the day, when they're bathed in gold-red-orange-blue dusklight, they sit around the fire and watch a pot of tomato soup simmer over the flames. Dominique is beating off the dewdrops that cling to the canvas after an earlier shower and Scorpius is using his wand to play with the flames, carving them into amusing shapes.

"Have you enjoyed camping so far?" she asks, pouring the soup into matching bowls and handing one to Scorpius.

"It's better than I thought it would be," he says cautiously, slurping up soup enthusiastically. "This is really good, by the way."

"You could eat it with better manners," Dominique observes haughtily. "Next time, we'll have a Muggle tent too!"

He groans and shakes his head frantically. She giggles and then falls silent, gazing right into his eyes. She leans forward and kisses him softly. His unplanned reaction - he had thought about leaping away and asking her what the hell she was doing - is to wrap his arms around her and kiss her back. When they part, they both have sand in their hair and clothes, little reminders of the beach for when they leave.

"You had a bit of soup," she murmurs, blushing. He smirks at her and takes her hand. This will be another reminder after they've left the beach and the walks and the tent behind.

* * *

><p>I'm kind of ashamed these are all turning out so long. I think I may start calling this a collection of short one-shots instead of a drabble collection :)<p>

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	7. Amaretto

Of Love, Life And Weasleys

Chapter Seven: Amaretto

He looks down at the glass in his hand, swirling the little pink umbrella around. It's an amaretto cocktail, apparently. He's had it in his hand for three hours but hasn't touched it.

"You not drinking, Lysander?" Lucy asks him. He looks over and sees her lounging across several chairs, drinking something that most definitely isn't pumpkin juice.

"No, got to stay sober for idiots like you who need escorting back to their dormitories," he answers. He looks around at the party and catches sight of Lily, pressed up against some guy, another guy he doesn't know.

She's such a social butterfly, she gets invited to thousands of parties and invariably drags him along to every single one. He just ends up lurking in a corner with one glass, staying sensibly sober, until the point when she's just too drunk and he removes her before she does something she'll regret in the morning.

"Come on, Lily, time to go," he says, striding over and pulling her away from the guy.

"But Damien was going to show me the sights!" she protests, fluttering her eyelashes at the guy.

"Yeah, man, chill," Damien drawls. "We're just havin' a bit o' fun!"

"Take this," Lysander orders him, shoving his full glass in Damien's face. "Let's go, Lily." He takes her glass from her limp fingers and sets it on a side table, where it's quickly scooped up and drained by someone who's going to have a really bad hangover in the morning.

He drapes her arm around his neck and staggers out of the room, Lily, being so drunk she can hardly walk, a dead weight. She snuggles against him, murmuring nonsense. He takes note of the wine stain down the front of her dress, the fact that she's no longer wearing the jewellery she was when they arrived and her make-up smudged and running down her face.

He'll be the one cleaning everything up and going back down the room to clean up and find everything, again. Why is he the only sensible seventh year, the only one who ever takes any responsibility for safety or cleaning up after a party?

"I love you, 'Sander," she slurs, trying to stand up and swaying on her heels. She aims a kiss at him but stumbles and almost land on her face before Lysander catches her and hauls her upright again.

"Do you feel okay, Lils?" he asks. "Not ill or anything?"

"I didn't drink that much!" she exclaims. "I can walk by myself!" She tries to demonstrate but falls almost immediately.

"No, you can't," he says shortly. "Come on, we're nearly back to the common room." The Fat Lady is drinking mead with some poker-playing wizards, all of them roaring with laughter. "Nargles!"

"In you go," the Fat Lady giggles, swinging open. Lysander drags Lily inside with one of the knights roaring drunken insults after them. He staggers across the dark, cold room to the staircases and performs the spell - taught to him by Fred - that will allow him to ascend the girls' staircase without sliding down again.

"Come on, into the shower," Lysander says, pulling Lily's dress off her and pushing her into the bathroom. He's seen her naked more times that he'd care to admit, after parties and such. The sounds of the shower and Lily's terrible drunken singing accompany his effort to find all her things.

"I don't feel so good," Lily groans as he hands her a pair of pyjamas. The amount she's drunk finally takes it toll as she throws up all over herself, her bed and him.

The pale grey dawn light is filtering over the horizon by the time he's finally cleaned up and got her dressed and into bed.

"Love you, 'Sander," she mumbles, already half-asleep.

"Love you too, Lils," he whispers, kissing her forehead. "Even if you do keep me up 'til crazy hours with your drinking."

* * *

><p>I seriously apologize for how long this is. I got carried away and had to stop it turning into a one-shot. Thank you for reading what cannot be called a drabble :D<p>

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	8. Cottage Breeze

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Eight: Cottage Breeze

He always loved sitting up on the roof of Shell Cottage. With the wind peeling off the sea and blowing in his face, the rooftop was pleasantly cool no matter the temperature and he could think clearly. With a family as large and crazy as his, peace and quiet was hard to come by.

"Louis, what're you doing up here?" Emily asked, poking her head out of the skylight.

"What are you doing in my room?" Louis asked, folding his arm indignantly.

"You left your door open," she said by way of explanation, hoisting herself out of the window and crawling up the sloped slates to join him by the chimney. "Do you usually sit on rooftops?"

"Do you usually break into boys' rooms?" he retorted, not even looking up from his examination of a hairline crack in the slate by his right foot.

"Touché," she laughed, watching the smoke trickle out of the chimney and into the sunset sky. "Don't you think that puff looks like a dragon?" She began to sing some Muggle song about a magic dragon named Puff.

"Do you think that one looks like an ice-cream cone?" he asked, pointing upwards into the red-and-gold sky.

Emily looked up, showing off the pink-purple shells hanging from her ears and the vivid purple scar running from under her chin to behind her left ear. A slight breeze blew her mousy hair back to show off the scar in all its glory. The scents of salt and sand drifted by them as they sat in companionable silence.

"How are you doing at the moment?" Louis asked. "The full moon's in, what, a week?"

"Five days," Emily corrected, smiling up at him. "I've got my little room and I've even put posters and photos up on the walls now. Mum went to the apothecary and got the potion yesterday. Look, I've even got a grey streak now." She pushed back a section of hair to show off the grey that came from being a werewolf. "I'm more like Dad than ever."

"Your family is strange," he told her. "Two werewolves, two Metamorphmaguses, one ex-Slytherin but nice gran and one boy who managed to get the normal genes."

"I could say the same to you,"she said with a grin. "Will you visit me after the full moon?"

"I'll bring you fruit and chocolate and a singing get well card," he promised.

"Just the chocolate will do," she said, smiling. "You are a great friend, Louis."

"I would say the same about you, Emily," he agreed. "I am a great friend, because I'm so awesome and sexy."

Emily punched him on the arm and he grinned at her. He rolled back down the roof and dropped through the skylight into a room wallpapered with Quidditch posters and photos of stupid moments. Emily followed and smiled at him.

"You are very awesome and sexy in the extreme," she giggled. "I can't believe you don't have a girlfriend."

"I happen to have a girl who is a friend, who may want to be a girlfriend," he told her, grinning when her jaw dropped open.

That was the night Louis had his first kiss, in a cottage full of happy families, with a girl who smelt faintly of the beach and had seashells dangling from her ears.

* * *

><p>For the purposes of this drabbleoneshot/_thing_, Remus and Tonks survived and had two more children. Their daughter, Emily, stars in this drabble :D

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	9. Peppermint

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Nine: Peppermint

He knows lots of things about her.

He knows about the different shades of red and brown that shoot through her curls, the green flecks in her brown eyes and the exact number of freckles sprinkled across her nose. He knows that she has a particularly ticklish spot on her left leg, that she has a birthmark that looks like a donkey if you squint a bit on her ankle and that she has a scar on the back of her neck from falling out of a tree.

That was how they met. His mother had told him and Lysander a story about a poor man who met his true love when she fell out of a tree. They'd been at the Burrow for another get-together and he'd been watching the fish in the pond when he'd heard a loud _crack _and a pretty girl with red hair had landed on the grass behind him.

And so they'd struck up a friendship. She'd played all of his games, pretending to be daring pirates and jungle explorers and he'd borne it steadfastly when she'd insisted on them both dressing up in tutus and wings sprinkled with glitter, waving sticks and running through fields on tiptoe, pretending to be fairies.

They'd gone to Hogwarts in the same year and, while she'd had the grubby old hat placed on her curly head and the entire hall had clapped and whistled when she was told to blaze under a banner of red and gold. He'd been sorted into Ravenclaw and become the sobering water to her raging fire.

They'd stayed friends until they reached the coming-of-age point when girls began to learn about love. The girls had learned about physical attraction and chemistry as their heartbeats learned to skip when their hand was brushed by the right person and their skin learned to grow hot just thinking about the right set of lips. All Rose could talk about was boys and kissing and teen witch magazines, while Lorcan and his friends still wanted to wrestle and play Quidditch in the mud and had no interest in dating.

They drifted apart slightly, though they'd remained close. Rose had great physical charm, which was perhaps the reason why boys suddenly started to take such an interest in her. She would just smile in that way of hers and blink brown eyes in an appealing way and boys would flock around her. It was something she was unconscious of doing and she fell for a lot of those boys.

And she cried when they left her, only to climb, bruised and battered, to the top of that tower and dive into another relationship a week later. He watched her do the same thing over and over and come running to him with her hair in disarray and her face streaked with tears. He watched her fire flickering faintly and dying, day after day, and it killed him a little inside. She had to blaze through the sky forever and he hated to see her fading and falling.

He's sixteen now and he's finally figured out why he feels so odd around her. Everyone talks about Ravenclaw intelligence but they never mention it's _mundane _intelligence and Ravenclaws find it hard to figure out emotions and relationships. But he's finally got his mind around the problem and he knows why his mouth becomes dry and his skin heats and reddens and his knees tremble and his voice shakes when he speaks. He loves her.

"Did Rook break up with you?" he asks when she runs to him with mascara trails on her cheeks and tears in her eyes. "I told you it was only a matter of time."

"He said I'm an idiot for thinking it would last!" she sobbed. "I loved him, Lorcan!"

"You deserve better, Rose," he says, putting his arms around her. "He doesn't deserve someone as nice as you."

Maybe it's the right moment, maybe it's not. But he takes a chance and kisses her and finds out something new: her lips taste like peppermint.

She's blazing again, a fiery comet soaring above his ocean, and, oh, how she shines for him.

* * *

><p>Yep, definitely time to start calling this a mini-oneshot collection rather than a drabble collection ;)<p>

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	10. Spiced Orange

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Ten: Spiced Orange

Winning Roxanne Weasley over is a crusade that too many have failed at.

First comes her deciding look, her narrow-eyed stare, the haughty toss of her black waves and then the icy treatment. If you're not willing to go the extra mile to win her over, you might as well be a piece of furniture for all the attention she'll give you.

They might say that little girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice, but Roxanne is ice and lemon, cold and bitter but once won over she can be all things nice.

And so Teddy thanks any deity, wizarding or Muggle, that is listening, because Roxanne liked him from the start. When she was a little girl he used to play with her little dolls and push her around in her pram. She grew older and he took her shopping and helped her make friendship bracelets. She made him a turquoise one that he still wears today. He was there when she rode a horse for the first time, cheering when she won a race and nailing her rosettes above her bed. She was the one who dared him to get his ear pierced.

"Your hair's gone orange again," she observes when they're on the swings in the little park not far from her home. "Why does it always go orange when you're with me?"

"I don't know," he says, looking down hastily as he feels a blush coming on. "You know I can't control it. Maybe it's my happy colour."

"No, your happy colour is turquoise," Roxanne contradicts him, now thoughtful. "It's not angry or worried or sad. So what is it?"

"I don't know," he repeats. She stares at him contemplatively for a minute.

"Is orange my colour?" she asks. "Your hair only turns orange when we're together. And it always goes ivory when you're with Victoire, so do I have my own personal colour too?"

"I t-think so," he says, stammering slightly. She grins at him and ruffles his hair.

"I feel so special," she laughs. "Hang on a second, now it's gone bright pink. What the hell does that mean?"

"That's the colour my hair goes when I'm loving someone," he says without a thought. Realizing what he just said, his face and hair turn scarlet in a bright blush.

"You're loving me, then?" she asks, and he just nods, too embarrassed to speak. "Interesting." She leans back so her hair brushes the ground to start swinging.

"Careful, I don't want to take you back home with a broken bone," he warns her. She just laughs and kicks out her feet more, going higher and higher with every swing.

"Kiss me," she says suddenly. He stares at her in shock as she slows herself down. "Come on, just kiss me. What are you afraid of?"

"Why do you want me to do that?" he manages to choke out. "Why should I do that?"

"I want you to do that because you just said you're loving me," she answers as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "And you should do it to see if the feeling is mutual."

As he leans in, it feels horribly like one of those forced mistletoe kisses. His co-worker always counts the number of berries and insists on the same number of kisses. Roxanne smells like oranges and a slight spice, a perfect blend that matches her.

"Hurry up!" she snaps irritably. "I promised I'd be home before it got dark!"

And so the kiss begins. Their lips move in tandem with each other, a beautiful, passionate dance that they could have been rehearsing for all their lives. Nothing but their lips touch but it ignites a fire with the flavours of orange and an unnamed spice that really makes it blaze. Simple and absolutely perfect are the words to describe their kiss.

But, in the end, the relationship lasts for only a short time and leaves no permanent trace. He marries Victoire and revels in her beauty and his ivory hair and she marries a man who can cope with her alternate spells of cold treatment and bitterness followed by sweetness. In the end, their relationship was just ephemeral.

* * *

><p>I think this is the first time Roxanne has had a starring role and I must say I enjoyed writing her in this mini-oneshot :D<p>

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	11. Cosy Fire

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Eleven: Cosy Fire

She's an extraordinary girl, with a bell-like laugh and long shimmering hair.

He's just an ordinary guy, with a slightly nasal voice and boring brown hair.

But they both work at Gringotts and so their bond is formed. He works in the front, behind a desk, managing transactions and many thousand of keys and she's a beautiful curse-breaker, travelling all over the world and exploring wondrous places.

"Don't you hate the holidays?" she asks. "I want to get back out there and do my job!"

It's Christmas and they're together in his flat, lounging on the floor and toasting marshmallows over a merrily blazing fire. The snow is a good few inches thick outside and the stars are shining through the window.

"To be frank, I'm glad to be away from the place," he answers, withdrawing his stick from the fire and examining the marshmallow. "Goblins make me nervous."

"You are funny, Graham," she giggles, leaning against him. "Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"Not at all," he says, wondering at the thought of this beautiful woman wanting to share a flat with him for an entire night. "Shall I make dinner?"

"No, don't get up!" she exclaims, pulling him back down. "Stay down here with me."

Silence reigns for a few minutes, except for the crackling of the flames and the faint strains of carol singers making their way down the street. He looks at her, taking in her sheet of silvery-blonde hair, her opalescent blue eyes, the festive jumper she's wearing and her long legs stretched out in front. She's special and out-of-the-ordinary, so very different from his normality and how mundane everything about him is. He puts an arm around her and she snuggles against him.

"Haven't you decorated your house yet?" she asks, looking around at the plain white walls without the faintest trace of tinsel or fairy lights.

"I do have a tree and all the decoration, I just haven't got round to it," he explains. She leaps up, away from the cosy little position they'd got into.

"Come on, let's do it now!" she exclaims. "It'll be just the thing to make us feel really Christmassy!"

He leads her to a cupboard filled with shoes and coats and pulls down boxes filled with colourful, glittery Christmas decorations. She's like a child in a sweetshop, the way her face lights up and she keeps picking things up to look at them.

"This stuff is brilliant!" she squeals. "You find the tree and I'll start hanging up the banners!"

By the time he returns, panting and sweating from the effort of dragging a rather large tree around, his living room, kitchen and hall all resemble a scene from a corny Christmas card. Glitter is spilled over the floor and multi-coloured fairy lights are string across every wall, with tinsel wrapped around every free-standing objects and banners with Christmassy slogans splashed across them nailed over every door.

"You really like Christmas, then?" he asks as Victoire, smiling and glowing, bedecks the tree with little bells and sequin-studded birds and feathery owls and glittery baubles and multi-coloured string of tinsel.

"I love everything about Christmas," she sighs, pausing in the act of rooting through the boxes, looking for an angel to place on top. "Turkey and family and presents and carols and everything."

"Speaking of carols, sounds like they're almost here," he says, listening to the singing of the carollers.

"Wait!" she shrieks as he starts to move. He freezes, staring at her and wondering what can possible be going on. She looks at him briefly and kisses him gently. For a moment her hair brushes his shoulders before she pulls away. "Mistletoe."

"There are five berries," he says, pointing at the plant over his head. "I insist on five kisses." She giggles and obliges with the second kiss.

His fingers glide over her fragrant skin and he closes his eyes to fully appreciate her. Outside, the carollers sing _Mary's Boy Child _and, inside, the cosy fire crackles.

* * *

><p>I guess I was feeling Christmassy today ;)<p>

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	12. Coconut Bay

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Twelve: Coconut Bay

She's beautiful. She's a gentle soul wrapped up in spiralling dark hair and bright blue eyes and sweet smiles.

She was a year below him at school, his little brother's year. She was kind to everyone and was never without a large crowd of friends, both girls and boys. So many boys, from younger to her age to older, had crushes on her.

James had had stirrings for her. Not feelings - he didn't do feelings - but definitely stirrings. He was famous, an illustrious man with good looks, charm and no shortage of humour. Every boy in Hogwarts wanted to be him and every girl just plain wanted him. So, of course, when she knocked on his dormitory door late one night, he immediately answered.

"Harriet, it's midnight, what do you want?" he asked. He looked at her heavenly smile and her glowing skin and wondered why she looked so happy with the exams three days away and revision still not done with.

"I have to tell you something!" she exclaimed. "I'm in love!"

"Who with?" James asked, wondering why there was a strange excitement in the pit of his stomach.

"Albus, we're dating now!" she squealed. "He's so sweet and he said he's loved me since we met! Isn't that sweet?" He had no response but to shoo her out and go straight to bed before anything emotional started.

From that point forward he'd pretty much become her emotional confidante. Every time something happened between her and Albus - good or bad - she came running to tell him. She never guessed about the stirrings he had for her.

He left Hogwarts and escaped her for a blessed year. He toured the world and tried out for numerous Quidditch teams - eventually getting into the Kenmare Kestrels alongside Teddy - and chose the colours to paint his flat with: _Kenmare Blue _and _Mellow Yellow_.

And then the fateful envelope arrived, the gold-edged paper. When he slit it open glitter spilt all over his new carpet. He read the swirling writing and felt cold inside. It was a wedding invitation. Harriet was marrying Albus, and that was when the stirrings stopped.

So, as the best man, he rode in the same car as the two of them, pinning a smile onto his face while they smiled and exchanged secret looks and held hands and Lily squealed about how adorable they were together. He'd straightened Albus' tie and brushed down his suit and followed him in with that same smile.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the joining of Albus Severus Potter and Harriet Rosanna Thomas."

If the force of gravity hadn't held him down, James would have floated away and left the wedding and all its meaning behind. As it was, he was forced to stand behind the couple, waiting to give them the rings and pretending to smile out at the families and friends gathered to witness the wedding.

"If anyone has any reason why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your silence."

He didn't act on the overwhelming urge to speak up, because that would have ruined Albus' life and James couldn't be needlessly cruel to his brother. They'd promised to always be friends and a silly girl couldn't come between them. But, he'd made that promise deciding all girls would go for him. After all, what reason was there for them not to?

"Do you, Albus Severus, take Harriet Rosanna?"

"I do."

"Do you, Harriet Rosanne, take Albus Severus?"

"I do."

James handed over the two rings, identical gold circlets that represented a lifetime of love and togetherness. The couple slid them onto their fingers and kissed as confetti and congratulations were showered onto them. He watched them run down the aisle hand-in-hand with a certain sadness.

She's beautiful and sweet, and he has stirrings for her, and seeing her wearing his brother's ring, living in little Coconut Bay cottage with him and their children, makes him want to feel sadness. But he doesn't - James Potter doesn't do feelings.

* * *

><p>I do feel quite sorry for James now. Harriet is the daughter of Romilda Vane and Dean Thomas.<p>

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	13. Baked Alaska

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Thirteen: Baked Alaska

When she was little, becoming an actress meant bright stage lights, standing ovations, bouquets of roses, dates offers from the most attractive men in the business and being able to afford any luxury she set her heart on.

The reality wasn't like that. She'd worked on her diction and movements throughout her school years and attended three years of drama school, learning how to cry at will and move on the stage and on camera. The tuition had been expensive and she was expected to pay her parents back, but all the work she'd been given had been an advertisement for _Siren's Secrets _clothing and one minor character in a Christmas pantomime.

Her family didn't know how badly her life was going. They didn't know that she traversed the world looking for work but could only afford grubby hotel rooms with beds a rat would surely refuse to sleep in. They didn't know that her pretty little cottage on the outskirts of Birmingham was about to be sold, nor that she'd had to borrow money to pay off her last three gas bills.

Lucy was doing well from her paintings and sculptures, living in a two-storey house with Lorcan and about to have her second baby any minute. She knew about Molly's situation but had, on Molly's pleading request, not told their parents. She put out numerous feelers to her friends in theatre, asking if they had any parts going spare. Molly simply seemed doomed to be another of those starving, out of work actresses leaping on any available part like a hungry leopard.

But an angel came down from heaven above in the form of Lorcan Scamander, Lucy's husband, who was playing in the orchestra for a showing of a Shakespeare play and managed to smuggle Molly into the theatre for an audition. The director had very generously offered her the leading female role of Juliet. Molly, who had adored Shakespeare throughout her drama training, eagerly accepted at a fee of five hundred galleons per showing.

The production was an extraordinary success, every showing selling out a month before it went on stage. Molly trod the boards as the star for the first time in her career and loved it. The bright lights in her face, the make-up artists, the hairdresser, the elaborate costumes - it was everything she'd ever dreamed of.

After the final show, when the standing ovation finally finished and Molly had tearfully accepted several bouquets, the after-party began. Many of them still in costume, the cast danced and cheered and ate and drank. They drank a lot. Molly's mother ran in around halfway through the party, dragging her rather more reluctant father behind her.

"That was wonderful, Molly, darling!" she shrieked. "You looked so beautiful up there and you were so incredible."

"I didn't know you were that good," her father admitted. Molly hugged them both, the tears streaming down her face, washing away all the thick stage make-up.

"I brought something to celebrate," her mother said. "Your favourite, baked Alaska!"

Molly smiled at her parents and turned to Lucy, a sleepy toddler on her hip as she helped herself to another handful of nuts.

"You were incredible, Moll," she said. "Wasn't she, Leah?"

"'Ess, veddy good," Leah said, smiling with tiny teeth at her auntie.

"Thank you for setting me up with this, Luce," Molly said, feeling more tears pricking her eyes. "I love you, you're the best sister a girl could have."

"The same to you," Lucy murmured with a smile as tears fell from her eyes too. They embraced and Molly thanked Godric that she had such a wonderful, sweet, loving, generous woman for a sister.

* * *

><p>I always pictured Molly as an actress :D<p>

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	14. French Vanilla

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Fourteen: French Vanilla

The night terrors had always been his worst fear, far more terrifying than Nargles or Carnivorous Humdingers or Heliopaths, all of which he fervently prayed he'd never come across.

Ever since meeting her and seeing her feisty beauty, he'd been wracked by nightmares of Il Dragone preparing to kill her. The worst thing about the nightmares was that he was standing right beside the cruel beast of a man, watching as he shot jets of red light at her and she screamed and writhed in agony. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes and begged him to help her. She begged the Dark Lord for mercy and he could do nothing but watch the light leave her eyes and the green sparks run across her skin.

After one of those nights, he had to owl her and check she was still alive, pacing his room until an envelope arrived, sprinkled with glitter and smelling of her distinctive lemon and rosemary shampoo. Only after reassurance that Il Dragone hadn't captured her could he sleep peacefully once more.

She was shameless, Dominique was. When she refused to go to France with the rest of her family, his mother happily welcomed her into their home, removing the clattering printing press and numerous blurry photographs of various breeds of Snorcack from the spare bedroom so Dominique could have it for three weeks. She never minded about walking through the house first thing in the morning, no matter how little of her body was covered.

"Hey, Lorcan, have you seen my Herbology textbook?" she asked, walking into his room without knocking, in her usual way. Evidently she'd been midway through a shower when she'd decided she simply had to find her textbook. She only wore a towel that kept slipping down, there were bubbles sliding down her bare legs and her hair was a mass of wet strawberry blonde curls and foam. Lorcan tried desperately to keep his eyes on her face.

"I think I might have seen it in Lysander's room," he managed to say after a minute's silence. "He has magpie tendencies when it comes to other people's belongings."

"Damn that idiot," she hissed. "Thanks, I'll go and find it."

"You should probably dress first," he advised. "Lysander isn't quite as blasé about half-naked girls walking into his room as I am."

"Half-naked, am I?" she asked. "Tell me, Lorcan, does my being half-naked _bother _you?"

"Merlin, you are _such _a Slytherin!" he exclaimed. "It bothers me slightly, so if you wouldn't mind leaving and washing all that foam out of your hair, I'd love you to."

"And why would you be bother by my being half-naked?" she asked, hands on hips. The struggle to keep his eyes on her face became an even more difficult task.

"I would have thought you'd guessed by now, with your intellect," he observes coolly, putting off the moment when he'd have to tell her. "You never saw my face when you kept walking around in your underwear?"

"No, never, tell me what it looked like," she retorted. He groaned internally. The Sorting Hat had been very right to place her in Slytherin.

"Are you really going to make me say it out loud?" he asked. "I've got a bit of a crush on you, Dominique."

The initial shocked silence lasted only a second before she had stepped towards him and planted her lips firmly on his. Her skin seemed to be sprinkled with glitter from this angle and she smelt deliciously of vanilla. He kept his hands neatly by his side, wishing she would do the same as he felt her wet hands through the thin material of his shirt.

"I hope that satisfies you," she said as she pulled away from him. She continued to gaze at him for a long moment.

"You s-smell like vanilla," he stammered, cursing himself for saying such a thing. She smirked and ran a finger down his cheek, that scent close to him again.

"It's my new shower gel," she whispered. "Made with only the finest French vanilla." She stepped away and that infuriating smirk didn't leave her face as she prepared to leave. "Maybe later I'll bring it to you and see how it smells on you."

* * *

><p>Well, I think I like these two together when they're both like this :D Il Dragone is my nextgen evil villain wizard.<p>

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	15. Orange Coconut

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Fifteen: Orange Coconut

It's hard to catch Lily Potter.

She just runs through life, faster and faster, her hair swirling around her like an orange cape for a superhero. She's like a superhero, with that same 'must save people' complex as her father.

She runs through classes and homework and time spent with friends and family and Quidditch. She plays Chaser and she's one of the best the Gryffindor teams has ever seen. It's no wonder she slits open the familiar heavy parchment envelope in her sixth year to find a silver Quidditch Captain badge along with the inevitable equipment lists.

She's nothing like glamorous Victoire or spiky Dominique or loud Roxanne or melodramatic Molly or dreamy Lucy or spunky Rose. She's just herself, all Lily, a bright little flame in red Quidditch robes, running and running so no one can hold her back.

She could be going places. She's a great Quidditch player and she has the charm to snag any job she wants. She's a great beauty and plenty of boys would love to stop her running long enough to date her, but she's not interested in love when there's a world out there for her to conquer.

He wakes up early one morning, planning to practice a few of the moves Lily explained to them at the last practice. At six o'clock, the sun is just beginning to cast pale beams across the grounds and the dormitory is filled with the sounds of his fellows snoring and murmuring in their sleep. As quietly as he can, he dresses in old Muggle clothes, collects his robes and equipment and edges out of the dormitory, shutting the door silently and clattering down the stairs. The common room is deserted but for a few portraits, glaring at him for disturbing their slumber.

The corridors are deserted. Only a few ghosts glide past and they entirely ignore him. He creeps past sleeping subjects in ornate frames and descends numerous staircases to reach the painting that lends a shortcut to the Quidditch changing rooms. After waking the snoozing knight to give him the password, he walks through a dark, cobwebby passage to reach the dimly-lit, musty-smelling changing rooms. Clearly the house elves have given up trying to make it smell like seven sweaty players haven't been changing in there.

Wrinkling an aristocratic nose, he waves his wand and the light grows brighter and the air clears to smell pleasant again. He examines his wand fondly before laying it on a bench as he strips off and pulls on his Quidditch robes, fastening on elbow and knee pads and his helmet and boots. Only when he gets outside does he find that he isn't alone.

Lily is out there, wearing her Chudley Cannons robes, swirling and diving expertly, the merest touch of her hands making the broom turn. Funny, she looks far more glamorous in Quidditch robes with her hair pulled back under a heavy helmet than she does in school uniform or Muggle clothing. Obviously she's just very suited to playing Quidditch.

"Morning, Scorpius," she says, diving down and hovering next to him. "You here to practise too?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, Lily," he informs her haughtily. "And I was expecting to be alone."

"You can drop the aristocratic pureblood act, Scorp, we're alone," she laughs. He smirks at her and reaches out to grab her, but she soars upwards and leaves him clutching at empty air and the scent of her coconut perfume.

"Catch me if you can!" she calls in a sing-song voice, grinning widely as he kicks off and follows her into the sky.

Oh yes, Lily Potter is hard to catch.

* * *

><p>I finally got it done! I think I wore my muse out with all the writing yesterday, as he was not being very cooperative. Ah well, I've battered him back into shape :D<p>

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	16. Christmas Cookie

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Sixteen: Christmas Cookie

"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, over the moon so bright, sixteen little legs and eight little tails of white!" Roxanne sang, flicking a stray dust ball from the mantelpiece and rearranging the cards emblazoned with cheesy Christmas slogans to give pride of place to a plaque that read _Welcome, Santa!_

"You forgot Rudolph," Lysander said dryly, looking around at the sea of festive cheer he'd become trapped in.

"Rudolph is overrated," Roxanne retorted, snatching another cookie from the pile on the table. "Personally, I prefer Comet. He has a much cooler name."

"Reindeer are from childhood celebrations anyway," he said, stretching out his legs and stifling a yawn as Roxanne straightened the plaque and looked critically at the display.

"What do you mean 'childish celebrations'?" she asked, appearing a little offended. "This is how I celebrate every year."

"How is it I didn't know this when I agreed to allow you to move in with me?" he asked, looking around at the decorated room, from the crystal droplets hanging from every needle of the tree to the tinsel and light draped over every available surface.

"You never asked," she retorted, leafing through the address book by the phone to reply to a card from an old acquaintance.

"Are there any other things you simply _have _to do, Roxanne?" he asked. She grinned at him, grabbing a card from the packet that was always to hand and scattering glitter all over the recently-vacuumed floor.

"Well, we need to leave out food for Santa and the reindeer," she laughed, picking up a quill and inking a message into the card and signing it _love Lysander and Roxanne_. She giggled at the thought of Lysander ever sending anyone love.

"And does Santa have a particular fondness for anything?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've heard he particularly likes cookies and Firewhisky left out for him," she informed him. "And the reindeers don't really like carrots, they prefer apples."

"So you're expecting me to go out on a freezing cold, icy night to buy Firewhisky and apples for a fictional man and his magical pets?"

"I am, you better go out before it gets much later."

He glared at her all the while he gathered his belongings and wallet and while she foisted an extra scarf on him, wrapping his around his neck and kissing him. He left with the same glare on his face, though he paused outside the door to smirk at her through the frosted glass.

He returned an hour later, when she'd sent her owl backwards and forwards with batches of cards six times and worried about where he was for twenty minutes. His hair was saturated with snow and he carried a brown bag of essential groceries, including a bottle of Firewhisky for Santa and apples for the reindeer.

"What took you so long?" she asked loudly, taking the bag and dropping in onto the floor in her impatience to be in his arms. "I was getting worried!"

"It's Christmas Eve, Roxanne," he reminded her. "The shops are heaving and the ground is really icy. I'm sorry for worrying you. I've bought you a little pre-Christmas present." He held out two clenched fists. "Which hand?"

"Both!" she squealed excitedly. He smirked at her.

"Psychic," he murmured, unfurling his fingers to reveal two exquisitely beautiful chandelier diamond earrings. Her mouth dropped open to form a perfect, comical **O **and she slowly lifted the earrings and slid them into her ears.

"Thank you," she whispered. He looked at her and a real smile spread across his face.

"They're outshone by your beauty," he whispered. Moving his hands up to unhook the earrings before they were damaged, he kissed her.

And the next morning a matching ring took pride of place on her finger.

* * *

><p>I feel so Christmassy now :D Kudos if you know the song Roxanne sang! Pointless fluff, I know ;)<p>

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	17. Vanilla Cinnamon

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Seventeen: Vanilla Cinnamon

It's so hard to choose between the two of them.

Victoire, with her rippling hair and flawless skin, is creamy, smooth simplicity. She's a gentle piano melody on one note, easy to understand. She's vanilla.

Rose, with wild hair and rampant freckles, is guaranteed to add a little spice. She's a loud orchestra, with the pounding of drums and the clash of the giant cymbals, difficult to understand. She's cinnamon.

They're interchangeable, really. They're more alike than they know, because he's fallen for both of them.

"_Teddy, why are you never in the house these days?"_

"**Teddy, don't make me do this to Victoire."**

He doesn't really know.

He's supposed to be the nice one, the man who wouldn't hurt a fly and was always voted least likely to break a girl's heart. He wasn't supposed to betray Victoire.

Rose is so captivating, though. She's a fiery girl, a beauty hiding behind wiry curls and a mask of freckles. Compared with Victoire's obvious looks and slight blandness, she's brilliant.

He loves them both, how can he choose?

"_Teddy, is there someone else?"_

"**Teddy, if you don't tell her, I will."**

He's gotten himself into a right predicament.

He loves Victoire, that's true. She's so innocent, a little fairy with a tiara on her silvery locks and blinking blue eyes shining with tears at him. She's sweet and gentle and she loves him back. He should be happy with her.

But Rose is witty and intelligent and so very forceful. He's been slapped, punched and kneed in the groin by her countless times. She's independent and she doesn't need a man to take care of her.

With only one of them, it feels like there's only half a sky.

"_Teddy, I'm going to have your child."_

"**Teddy, stop tossing pebbles at my window and go back to your pregnant wife!"**

He's going to be a father.

He does everything for Victoire, indulging her odd cravings, massaging her back when their child kicks her unmercifully. He loves her unconditionally and reassures her over and over that she'll be a wonderful mother.

But he can't get Rose out of his head. He wonders how she'd look with a baby swelling her belly and what kind of mother she'd be. He wonders how she'd look with his ring on her finger and his kisses lingering on her mouth.

He can't give either up.

"_We have a daughter, Teddy, named Lyra."_

"**Teddy, if you come near me again, I'm telling her."**

Now he's a father.

He has a daughter and a wife waiting back at the cottage, a daughter who's probably wailing and keeping poor Victoire running to and fro, but he can't go back. Not until he's left the note outside Rose's door.

He leaves her roses, taking the cliché to ultimate heights. She opens the door for him, a shining beacon of beauty and he tries to kiss her. She slaps him across the cheek.

She ruins the carefully woven tapestry.

"_Teddy, there's someone else, isn't there?"_

"**That is it, Teddy, I'm telling Victoire."**

Everything just blows up in his face.

He arrives home one night to find Victoire in the hallway, cradling little Lyra in her arms. Tears are streaking her pretty face and she holds Lyra tightly, as if their daughter is some sort of shield from him.

Rose walks in, a suitcase in each hand. She glares at him and puts an arm around a sobbing Victoire, her eyes never leaving him, cold and sending a very clear message.

"_I'm leaving and I'm taking Lyra with me."_

"**You deserve this."**

And so now he has neither.

He'll never see Victoire's beauty or Rose's disguised looks. He'll never hear either of their voices again or see their smiles when he approaches.

He'll certainly never again be faced with Victoire's gentleness and sweet nature, nor Rose's witty remarks and remarkable intellect.

Just like that, he is crushed.

"_I hope you understand that I can't stay with you."_

"**I'm going to take care of Vic and Lyra now."**

Why can't the two women just melt into one?

* * *

><p>Ooh, I really really hate Teddy in this. He's such a bastard, but he usually is when I put him in triangles.<p>

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	18. Cinnamon Stick

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Eighteen: Cinnamon Stick

She's a dreamer. She lies on the grass and stares up at the burnished blue sky and dreams the clear summer days away.

It all started when Rose introduced her to the delights of fairytales when they were both six years old. Reading about Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and Rapunzel, all finding their handsome princes and happy endings, she dreamt of the day a man would sweep her from a tower prison, a glass coffin or a four-poster bed and they'd live happily ever after.

For a long time, this prince was just a nameless man. His face changed every time she daydreamed and he had no name but for 'Lucy's Handsome Prince.' The day she met Lorcan changed all that. Suddenly, the prince had overlong blonde hair and grey eyes and a name.

They went to Hogwarts in the same year, walking side-by-side down the cobbled street known as Diagon Alley. He offered her a cinnamon stick and told endless jokes to keep her spirits up as her parents fought and her sister seethed for the entire shopping trip. She was more than a little shy and he was loud and boisterous, but they were a case of opposites attract. They were sorted into Ravenclaw together and for four years it was rare to see either without the other.

All that changed in fifth year. Lucy had grown into a rather beautiful woman and the first one to notice was Scorpius, the man she decided would match perfectly with Rose. He asked her to the Christmas dance and they swayed back and forth in the candlelight, his hands on her waist and her eyes unable to leave Lorcan's longing face.

Scorpius was cold as ice and an aristocratic pureblood to most, with his severe haircut and steely grey eyes. Around Lucy he seemed to melt into silky hair and warm eyes and gentle lips.

But the first time he kissed her; she couldn't help but feel that it was wrong. Her first kiss was supposed to be from her handsome prince, the one she'd live happily ever after with, not from a stumble on the yellow brick road to her happy ending.

He took her home to meet his withdrawn father and charming mother and she spent the Christmas holidays in Malfoy Manor, away from the volatile climate of her parents' impending divorce. They watched the sun rise above a snowy horizon and he kissed her and whispered the word she'd hoped never to hear from him.

He said he loved her and he promised her kingdoms and a house elf for the purpose of nothing but fanning her with magnificent palm fronds. She smiled and let him kiss her, but the thought of Lorcan and stepping over the cracks in cobblestones and laughter never left her mind.

"You look so lovely, Lucy!" her future mother-in-law squeals now. "Isn't she a picture, Draco?"

"She is indeed," he says coolly. "She will give us a beautiful heir." Lucy turns away from them, blinking back tears. She stares at the face in the mirror, hoping to see a trace of the rosy-cheeked, pigtailed child she remembers vaguely. Nothing but her pale, veiled face stares back from the glass.

"Hurry up, everyone, it's nearly time!" her father shouts. Scorpius' parents nod at her and leave. Her father smiles and she takes his arm. The ceremony passes in a blur, the only thing standing out the misery on Lorcan's face.

"Do you, Lucy Audrey, take Scorpius Hyperion?"

This is it, her choice. She wonders for a moment if she can't just postpone, run away. But, no, she's done with the running and hiding. She made her choice three years ago.

"I do."

"I now pronounce this couple man and wife. Stand aside for Lord and Lady Malfoy."

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><p>I feel so mean for not having her end up with Lorcan :(<p>

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	19. Fiesta Fudge

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Nineteen: Fiesta Fudge

"I can't reach!" Lucy wails, trying to pin a banner reading _Happy 21st__ Birthday Dominique! _over the door. Lysander strolls casually over and, with his immense height, easily reaches the top of the door and pushes the pin in easily.

"Oh, thank you!" Lucy exclaims, climbing carefully down her stepladder and smiling up at him. "How can I ever repay you?"

"You could stop calling me Frankenwizard, but that's just an idea," he suggests, grinning.

"Well, you're six foot six," she says. "It's unnatural!" He laughs at her trying to tell him off, a little fairy who barely reaches his shoulders even in her heels.

"Well, since you're organising this fiesta, is there anything you want me to do?" he asks. She looks at him for a moment, waves her wand and a pile of bed covers flies at him, enveloping him in multi-coloured cotton and the scent of lavender.

"Go upstairs and make up beds for Dom's friends," she orders. "There are some blow-up mattresses in the cupboard under the stairs; those are for the third floor bedroom on the left. And don't disturb the ghoul!" He just grins at this little pixie bossing him around and bounds up the stairs, resolving to start on the top floor and work his way down.

By the time he's finished making all the beds and various blow-up mattresses (not one of his favourite chores) the house has been transformed. The sheer number of glowing fairy lights strung along banisters and over doorways and across walls is terrifying. Food and drink is set out, the Firewhisky already diminished by nervous decorators and organisers.

"About time!" Lucy exclaims when she sees him. "Since when does it take an hour to make up twenty beds?"

"Since you put my brother in charge," Lorcan says. "Anything I can do, Lucy?"

"You could shag her before your sexual tension drives us any crazier," Molly remarks, refilling her glass with Firewhisky and smirking at her outraged sister.

"Lysander, Lily and Rose still aren't ready," Roxanne says from her precarious perch on a stepladder as she tries to wrap a string of fairy light around a wooden beam. "Go and chivvy them into action, would you?"

An hour later, it finally seems like they're ready. They line up in the living room and Ron uses his Deluminator to plunge them into darkness. Several sharp heels plunge into his feet as the women try to get into place with their banner. The door creaks home and they hear Dominique clattering about. She walks into the living room and lights her wand to look around.

"SURPRISE!" they shout. Dominique claps her hands to her mouth in perfectly faked surprise. There's a flurry of shouts and wide grins as everyone hands over presents, a serenely smiling Victoire places a bejewelled tiara on her sister's red curls and James pours out glasses of Firewhisky for every guest.

It's getting on for midnight and guests and family alike are staggering about in various states of intoxication as Dominique finally makes her way over to Lysander, wobbling wildly in her heels.

"I'm glad you came," she tells him, slurring her words. "You're very good to have at parties." Within an instant her mouth is on his to whoops, cheers and loud wolf-whistles. He pulls away and grins at Lily's scowl and her silk-clad body quivering in anger, looking furious enough to go supernova. A moment later, her fist makes contact with Dominique's jaw, sending the drunken birthday girl toppling to the ground.

And so Dominique Weasley's twenty-first concludes with her sitting with an ice pack over a black eyes, drowning her sorrows in chocolate fudge as the man she'd hoped to drag to bed dances with her cousin.

"So humiliating to be cuckolded by someone four years younger," Roxanne remarks, not without a certain smugness, as she accepts her ten Galleons from a scowling Rose.

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><p>I liked this one :D I have a soft spot for crazy drunken Weasleys. And Weasleys betting between themselves.<p>

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	20. Vanilla Pumpkin

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Twenty: Vanilla Pumpkin

There's a certain whimsy about the pretty little café. Whether it's the toothpaste-striped awning, the grapes growing in the roof or the wind chimes tinkling gently over every table, there's an air around the little building that has her returning every time.

"Molly, dear, what'll it be today?" Hestia asks, a smile widening on her flushed face as the little bell over the door cheerfully announces Molly's arrival.

"A mug of tea," she said wearily. "And if you could put in a little pick-me-up in, I'd be grateful. A slice of shortbread as well, please."

"Bad day at the office?" Hestia asks, her face a mask of sympathy.

"You don't know the half of it," Molly moans. "I think my boss should be in a mental institution, not holding power over two hundred young lawyers. _And _Drake owled me during my lunch break to tell me it was over at the same time Lucy announced her pregnancy."

"There's someone out there for everybody," Hestia says comfortingly, pouring a few drops of Firewhisky into Molly's tea. "Don't worry; your soulmate is waiting for you." Molly smiled gratefully at the woman who has been the great comfort to her problems for three years now and picked up her tea and shortbread, sitting down in a table by the window and pulling out a few case files.

She plays with the silver beads around her neck as she reads about rights to children and properties. _Merlin, this stuff is boring. _Her eyes snap up from the tiny print as the door swings abruptly open and shut.

"A Gillywater and a slice of carrot cake," the new arrival says. Hestia looks over at Molly, staring in shock at the man, her fork poised halfway to her open mouth. The owner and operator of the café just smiles to herself.

"Teddy, what are you doing here?" Molly asks. Teddy, his hair a stormy shade of grey, sits down opposite and refuses to look at her as she carefully slides her case files into their individual folders and slots them back into her ultra-organised briefcase.

"I'm here because Victoire found out about that one kiss I had with Lily and threw a vase at my head and now she's kicked me out of the flat and broken up with me and now I have nowhere to go so I thought Hestia's café would be a good place to come," he says in a great rush. It takes Molly a moment to decipher his twisted words and for a moment she just stares at him.

"Are we talking about that time you kissed Lily during a game of Spin the Bottle three years ago?" she asks. Teddy nods, his head in his hands. "Well, Victoire's an idiot for breaking up with you over that."

They look at each other before Hestia crosses over, eager to eavesdrop, and places two hollowed-out pumpkin in front of them.

"Halloween special," she says when both look quizzically at her. "Pumpkin shells with vanilla ice-cream. Don't look at me like that, pumpkin's good for you!"

"Which vase did she throw at your head?" Molly asks curiously, examining his hair for any pieces of broken china. Teddy looks up at her and a grin slowly spread across his face, his hair lightening with every second.

"Only _you_ would ask that, Molly," he says, chuckling. "If you must know, it was the one your dad gave us for Christmas."

"Oh, good, that thing was horrible," Molly says, smiling as he laughs loudly and merrily. "Dad never had great taste in furniture." Teddy holds her rapt gaze and moves a hand to toy with her beads.

Three weeks later and Molly finds herself healing a cut in her new boyfriend's cheek from another vase thrown by Victoire. Unfortunately, this one was actually quite pretty and Victoire's aim was far better.

* * *

><p>Ahaha, the image of Victoire hurling vases ;) I am a tenth of the way there, folks!<p>

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	21. Cinnamon Viennese

Of Life, Love And Weasleys

Chapter Twenty-One: Cinnamon Viennese

They're twins, but they're not the same.

He has wild red hair, a wicked grin and a love of pranks and jokes. She has sleek black hair, a gleam of wickedness in her eyes and a love of singing and acting.

She's fond of melodrama, really. The first time she rode a broom; she fell off and scraped her knee. The fuss she made, you would've thought she'd cut off the entire lower half of her leg. When he pinched her lightly on the arm to reach the last piece of cake, she screamed the house down.

He's not like that. If anything, he downplays everything. He could be bleeding to death and he's say, "Calm down, guys, it's just a scratch." But then, life would be no fun if he couldn't see the outrage on his twin's face when she punches him and he doesn't react.

"Roxanne, it's your turn to do the washing up tonight," their mother says as both begin to rise from their seats, ready to bolt.

"No fair!" she shouts. "Fred _never _does the washing up!"

"I do, I did it not long ago!" Fred retorts. Their mother leaves the room, thinking it's best not to get involved in one of their fights.

"When was that, last week?" Roxanne asks, narrowing her eyes at her twin. "Frederick Oliver Weasley, you are a terrible liar!" She smirks at him. He never wins their argument when she plays the middle-name card.

"Roxanne Angelina Weasley, you are not going to win this time!" he shouts, looking satisfied as she glares at him for using her own tactic on her.

"We could just do it together," she suggests. Fred decides he likes this idea and grabs the washing-up liquid, squirting the green liquid into the water.

"Do you want to wash or dry or put away?" Roxanne asks, pulling bright pink rubber gloves on.

"I'll dry if you wash," he answers. "We'll put away together." She nods and starts to work her way methodically through the dirty plates and glasses. He unearths a jar of cinnamon sticks from the cupboard and they wash, dry and eat in silence.

The companionship barely lasts five minutes before they're arguing again.

"This music is hellishly boring," Fred complains.

"I happen to like classical music, thank you," Roxanne says haughtily. Fred grins at her and changes to some Muggle rock station, head-banging to the music. He's 'dancing' so enthusiastically he drops three china plates and they hit the floor before either twin can save them.

"You idiot!" Roxanne shouts, rounding on him and switching the radio station back. "That was Mum's best china!"

"Who cares?" he asks cheekily. She glares at him and scoops up bubbles from the sink, throwing them at him. He fights back by emptying the remaining cinnamon sticks and their crumbs over her perfect hair. She shrieks in anger and throws an entire jug of cold water over his head. He retorts by tickling her so she shoots a bar of wet, sticky soap into his unsuspecting face.

When Angelina returns to the battleground twenty minutes later, believing they must be finished or both lying, unconscious, on the floor by now, she finds a scene of devastation. The floor has become a sea of water with the broken remains of cinnamon sticks, crushed bit of soap and pieces of smashed china floating through it. Fred is wearing a mass of bubbles as a beard and Roxanne has bubbles all over her arms. They're laughing wildly as they attempt to perform a Viennese waltz, slipping every few seconds.

"Next time, I'm doing the washing up," she mutters to herself as she just leaves them to it. When Roxanne and Fred aren't fighting, it's best to leave well enough alone and hope the phase lasts.

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><p>By the way, there will be a special prize for anyone who manages to review them all :D Only 79 to go!<p>

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